I Hate You, I Love You

by Bailey B

  Logan holds me tighter against him. He sticks another finger in, moving the two in unison and the pressure building inside me explodes. I drop my chin to Logan's shoulder, panting. He moves his hand from my panties and grips my thigh.

  “You okay?” he asks, exhaling laughter.

  I nod. Still trying to catch my breath. “Yeah. What was that?”

  Logan looks at me curiously, one thick brow arching upward. “Have you never had an orgasm before?”

  “Apparently not.”

  39

  Danika

  “Hey, baby girl,” Dad says hesitantly as I walk into the kitchen. The shirt I stole from Logan falls to my mid-thigh, just short enough to see the pink donut print of my pajama shorts. The first time I strolled downstairs in Logan’s clothes, Dad’s eyebrows shot so far up his forehead I thought they were going to kiss the roof. Now, he’s used to it.

  I slump in the kitchen chair, not ready to be awake, but someone had to text me at the butt crack of dawn. Oh well. A ridiculously early text is a million times better than an unexpected-expected visitor. “Morning, Dad.”

  “I got called into work tonight for a seven-to-seven shift.” He grimaces. “I’m sorry.”

  I shrug and reach for his cup of coffee. So the thing with Dad’s coffee, outside of a sip or two he doesn’t drink it. Every morning he would get up and make himself a cup of coffee. A full cup. Mom would then come into the kitchen, make me breakfast, pack me lunch, and complain about how Dad would waste a good cup of Joe. She’d then take the mug and drink it herself, also complaining that he didn’t know how to make a decent cup of coffee.

  Mom would pretend to be irritated.

  Dad would stare adoringly.

  It had been that way for as long as I can remember.

  When she died, Dad still made his cup of coffee. Every morning he’d have his sip and then it would sit untouched for the rest of the day. One morning, I woke up earlier than usual (not on purpose) and found him crying, talking to the cup as if it was mom. It broke my heart.

  I started sharing the coffee with him the next day. It was the only way I knew how to help. And it did. Little by little, dad pulled himself back together. So now, most mornings, we share a cup of coffee. Making sure to always leave some for mom.

  I take a sip and shrug.

  For everyone else in the world, today is just another day. The fact that this is the day I turn eighteen doesn’t make a difference to anyone but me. It sucks that my first birthday without mom, dad has to work, but there’s no sense in making him feel bad about it. He’s shouldered all of the burden since mom got sick. The least I can do is understand we can't have dinner tonight. “No big deal. You bought me a car. I’d say we’re good.”

  He pushes back from the table and stands. He kisses the top of my head then reaches for his briefcase on the counter. “I’ve got to get going.”

  I fight the crushing hurt twisting in my chest. Not doing my birthday dinner is one thing but leaving me alone all day… that creates a new pain I haven’t felt. I thought we’d at least spend the day together. He’s my dad. My birthday might not matter to anyone else, but it’s supposed to be important to him. I swallow the lump in my throat, pretending to be curious yet indifferent. “Your shift doesn’t start for, like, twelve hours.”

  “I know, but I have a meeting with Sheriff Tomlinson this morning.”

  I don’t know how long dad’s been gone. I’ve laid in bed, staring up at the ceiling for what feels like an eternity. I cried myself to sleep once but now I’m awake, and drained, and too deep in my pool of self-pity to call anybody and beg them to hang out with me.

  I don’t expect Sarah or Logan to remember my birthday. It’s been years and I don’t have social media to remind them it’s today. I also realize, counting the popcorn bits on my ceiling—so far, I’m at four-hundred and twelve—that I’ve been back for almost three months and only have two friends.

  Two. If you don’t count Cooper and Piper. Sometimes I feel like they’re only nice to me because I’m with Logan.

  How pathetic am I?

  I’m so lost in my thoughts and the popcorn pieces on the ceiling, I don’t hear my bedroom door open, don’t notice Logan until he’s lying next to me. “What are you doing?”

  “Counting the little popcorn specks.” I can’t look at him. If I do, I’ll cry. Then he’ll ask what’s wrong, and I’ll have to make up some stupid excuse because I don’t want Logan feeling bad for not knowing it’s my birthday.

  “How many are you up to?” he asks, the edge of his lips quirking into a grin.

  ‘Four hundred and seventy-five.”

  We lay in silence. Me counting and him staring up at my ceiling too. After a few minutes Logan says, “This is worse than watching paint dry.” He stands then grabs my hands, pulling me into an upright position. “You look like you’ve been run over by a car. What’s wrong?”

  I yank my hands free and shove them under my armpits, hugging myself. I probably look like a five-year-old having a fit, but at this point I don’t care. “Nothing. Go home if you’re bored. This is what I’m doing today.”

  Logan grunts and lays back in bed beside me. He tucks his arms under his head and closes his eyes. “I’m just saying, there are way better ways to spend your birthday. But it’s your day. If this is what you want to do then so be it.”

  I jerk upright, my insides tingling with excitement. “What did you say?”

  Logan chuckles, the sound rippling through me in the best possible way and pushes onto his elbows. “I mean I thought we’d go to the beach and then the haunted house tonight, but if this is what you’d rather do…”

  He remembered! I don’t know how, but Logan remembered. I cup his jaw with my hands and bend down, placing a very big very thankful kiss on his lips.

  40

  Logan

  Danika has a death grip on my hand while hugging close to my arm. We’re barely out of the school’s parking lot and she’s freaking. Every year our school turns into a massive haunted house either the weekend before or the weekend of Halloween. It just kind of depends what day the thirty-first falls on. It’s a huge event that’s open to the community.

  Our school is three stories tall and sectioned off for themed scare zones. The second floor is zombie themed, with two scare rooms. The third floor is basically a living tribute to Steven King. The committee picked five movies, all of which are a secret until tonight.

  Our classrooms are naturally grouped together in pods of two, connected by a bathroom. If the flow is the same as last year, the guide will lead everyone on a predetermined path through each room and then back down to the first floor.

  Down on the first floor, the cafeteria has morphed into a ghoulish dance party, hosted by the cheerleading squad. Outside, leading back towards the parking lot, the football team has set up a series of carnival games. Basically the whole place has one way in and one way out.

  People flock by the bus load to us because we are the closest haunted house that’s actually scary in a fifty mile radius and because all of the proceeds are sent to one of the children’s hospitals in south Florida.

  Danika squeezes her eyes shut and damn near cuts off circulation to my hand. “Baby, relax.” I shake free of her death grip and drape my arm across her shoulders. “This is supposed to be fun.”

  Danika shakes her head and covers her face with her hands. “I hate scary movies. They give me nightmares and I’m about to walk into one.”

  “Actually you're about to walk into, like, six,” Sarah declares beside us. I shoot her a shut-the-fuck-up glare but she’s too stoned to comprehend.

  “Baby,” I pull Danika’s shaking hands off her face and stare down into her eyes. “We don’t have to do this. We can do a movie or mini golf or pretty much anything besides the haunted house.”

  “No. I want to.” She insists. “It’s for a good cause.”

  I pay our entry fee and wait for our guide to start the tour. I recognize the chick,
dressed as not a vampire but it’s victim. Tricia is her name, and she was one of the few girls I hooked up with more than once last year. Four times, actually. Luckily, Danika’s buried her face in my shirt and doesn’t see Tricia wink at me.

  Sarah catches it. Points at Tricia. Then pretends to slit her throat with her finger.

  Bitch is crazy.

  “Welcome. Welcome, everyone,” Tricia says, her voice dripping with faux-British aristocracy. She grins and circles the group. Touches a shoulder here. Twirls a lock of hair there. “Master will be pleased with tonight’s offering.”

  “I thought it was zombie and horror movie themed.” Sarah crosses her arms over her chest. “You look like you’ve been mauled by The Ripper from The Vampire Diaries.”

  Tricia smirks and dramatically steps towards Sarah. “And your name is what, little one?”

  Sarah rolls her hooded eyes, unimpressed. They were both on the cheerleading squad freshman year. She knows her name. “Miss. Mary-Mack.”

  Tricia takes Sarah’s chin between her thumb and forefinger. Everyone’s watching, probably wondering if this is ad-libbed or a part of the show. Even Danika’s peeking through her fingers. Tricia sticks out her tongue and licks the side of Sarah’s face. “You’d taste better if you were dressed in black.”

  Tricia pushes Sarah’s chin away and struts back to the front of the group. “Master won’t be pleased if we’re late.”

  Sarah wipes her cheek with her palm, her expression stoic, then rubs the saliva on her jeans. “That bitch is gross.”

  Jake chuckles and snakes his arm around Sarah’s waist. I don’t know when they became an item, but I’m not about to intervene. Jake may be the closest thing I’ve got to a guy friend but he’s a dog. My reputation may be bad, but I look like a saint compared to him.

  “Rules,” Tricia exclaims, stopping at the threshold of the second floor. Her fake accent is gone and there’s a seriousness to her voice. “Nothing in there can physically harm you. The knives are fake, the chainsaws chainless, but I warn you. Don’t touch anyone. The moment you do all bets are off. I cannot save you.” Her gaze bounces from each person in line then stops on Danika. “Will not save you.”

  Danika squeezes my waist, wrinkling my shirt. I kiss the side of her head and whisper, “Relax, baby. No one’s going to get you. I’m right here.”

  Tricia opens the door and lets the group in. Danika and I hang towards the back of the crowd, letting everyone else go first. I figure we can watch where the scarers are and avoid as much of the jumping, creepiness as possible.

  “Logan,” Tricia says, grabbing my arm. Danika shifts under me, adjusting to hear better. “Don’t go upstairs. The stairwell at the end of the hallway isn’t locked at the bottom.” And then she leaves. Doubles back the way she came and disappears into the darkness. That’s different from last year.

  Danika peeks up at me, “That was weird.”

  I hold her closer and run my hand up and down her arm. “Nah, it’s just Halloween fun. Come on.”

  Danika squeaks and buries her face back into my chest. I kiss her forehead and proceed to the first haunted classroom. The hallway itself has been decorated to look like an abandoned town. Drop cloths with painted storefronts and tumbleweeds add to the effect. The best part about the hallway, there’s no zombies. It’s a scare-free-zone to give everyone a mini break.

  We walk into the first haunted room, a torture chamber of sorts. Zombies try to attack us from every angle but they’re chained to the wall and miss us by inches. As a whole, I think it’s kind of stupid. The corn syrup blood is too light and whoever was in charge of makeup and costumes this year went the Party City route. With the budget we have every year, this could have been more realistic.

  “Lift your foot.” I tap Danika’s leg with my hand. She peeks down at the ground, probably to see why, then buries her face in my chest again. “We’ve got to step over a body.”

  Danika blindly agrees. The dead body near the end of the haunted room comes to life and grabs Danika’s ankle. Not a big deal, until he yanks, trying to pull her onto the ground. Danika lets out a blood curdling scream and grips my waist tighter.

  I can’t recognize the kid, he’s got too much cheap stage makeup on, but he’s determined to bring Danika to the ground. Fucker is starting to piss me off. “Dude! What the fuck? Let go.”

  Zombie man hisses and begins to climb his way up Danika’s leg. She’s absolutely hysterical, clinging onto me for dear life. This isn’t supposed to happen. I’ve worked in haunted halls the past three years. There are strict rules. Even if someone touches you, you don’t touch them. Ever.

  Something’s not right.

  I raise my foot and kick the zombie-kid in the side until he falls off of Danika. She’s shaking, crying, but no longer screaming. I slip my arm under her legs and carry her out of that classroom then kick the door shut behind me. Fuck it if it’s supposed to stay open.

  “I don’t want to do this anymore,” Danika cries softly into my ear. Her body trembles in my arms. I kiss her head then look around the hallway. I’m supposed to follow the path of bloody footprints to the next room, but that’s not happening.

  “We’re not.” Thank fuck the hallways are the safe zones. I don’t think Danika could handle another zombie attack. I don’t listen to Tricia’s advice about which stairwell to take. While her warning about tonight was sweet, people often forget about the North stairs—Cooper’s favorite meetup spot with Piper. On the off chance tonight is a set up by Gunner and his crew, I refuse to do what’s expected of me and fall into a trap.

  Am I overreacting? Probably. But considering I just fucked up Gunner’s senior year, I’m not taking any chances.

  I carry her through the cafeteria and set her on a bench outside, by one of the food trucks. Danika tucks her hands under her thighs, gaze bouncing from one person to the next. This was a disaster. I should have pushed for us to go out to eat somewhere or something. “Here. Eat. It’ll calm your nerves.”

  “Cooking helps. Not eating.” She takes a fry and places it between her lips. “You know these probably aren’t Vegan. Right?”

  I shake my head and laugh. She’s totally serious, but non accusatory. “It’s the closest we’ve got. Are you feeling any better?”

  She takes a sip of the coke and gives a small nod. “Yeah. What happened? Is it always like that?”

  “No. Something was off tonight.” We sit in silence and finish the basket of fries. I’m not ready to go home, I want to try and redeem tonight. A girl only turns eighteen once. “What do you want to do?”

  Danika shifts on the bench seat to face me. “I think I should thank my hero,” she teases.

  I turn and pull her closer by the hips. She only slides a few inches, but those inches feel like miles. I reach up and tuck long strands behind her ear. I still need to give her the gift I bought—sapphire stud earrings that match the necklace she never takes off. “And how are you going to do that?”

  Danika fists my shirt and pulls my lips to hers. I cup the back of her neck with one hand and scoot her onto my lap. I don’t care about what the people around us think. I kiss her the way she deserves to be kissed. Like the world begins and ends with her because mine does.

  I knew something in my life wasn’t right. There was always this feeling of emptiness I could never fill. I never could place exactly what was lacking, I just knew something was. That deep impenetrable void, it doesn’t exist when Danika’s near. If she ever leaves me, I’ll be ruined and that has somehow turned into my biggest fear.

  Danika reaches behind her and grasps onto the bench. She lowers down until her back is lying flat and I’m on top of her. It’s awkward as fuck, trying not to crush her but I must be doing a good job because she moans against my lips.

  “Jeez, no one wants to see that!” Melody complains from somewhere that isn’t Danika’s lips.

  I break our kiss to look up at Melody. Danika giggles into my shoulder and I don’t bother fighting my smi
le. I’m drunk on her lips and high on life. There’s nothing that Melody could say or do to ruin this moment. “Well then, don’t look,” I tell her, right before finding Danika’s mouth again.

  41

  Logan

  Danika and I have unofficially been together for four weeks now, and things couldn’t be better. All those stupid television moments where the couples stare at each other, smiling like the sun was made to shine on them…I always thought it was bullshit. I was wrong. So. So. Wrong. The sun, it was made to shine on Danika because the world gets a little brighter whenever she’s around.

  I laugh at myself. That was so cheesy you could slice it up and put it on a cracker, but that’s what Danika does. Turns me into a mushy, warm, cheese ball.

  I like it.

  I walk into my house, Danika’s hand in mine, like we’ve done every day after school for weeks and stopped dead in my tracks. Chill bumps break out across my skin at the sound of the voice somewhere within my walls. I swallow the knot in my throat and pray that my mind is fucking with me again.

  “You okay?” Danika asks, eyeing me curiously. She rubs her hand on my arm then stares at her fingers, probably feeling the sweat seeping through my shirt.

  I shake our hands free and follow the sound of that voice. My vision tunnels, only seeing the path leading me to hell. My feet are heavy with each step and anchor themselves to the ground when I find the man I’m searching for sitting at my table. He doesn’t look much different than he did ten years ago, outside of the grays peppered through his sandy blonde hair. Then again, he never does when I see him.